


Just Words

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Alternate Universe, Sexting, Silly, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2014-01-14
Packaged: 2018-01-08 17:25:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim asks Spock to sext him. (Bones “helps.”)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Words

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know I’m not the first with this idea, but oh well. Hopefully I won’t be the last, either. Mini-skeleton of the spirk sexting is [on my tumblr.](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/73294759738/spirk-sexting)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

_Say something sexy,_ Jim types, full words and vowels and all. When he does any less, Spock either responds with confusion or doesn’t respond at all. Apparently they don’t teach Standard short form on Vulcan. 

Jim just snorts when the return text is a simple, _Done._

_I didn’t get it._

There’s a moment of silence, which Jim knows means Spock’s typing something inappropriately lengthy. Communicators really are a better route when verbal, but then he wouldn’t get as many adorable misunderstandings. _You are not in my quarters yet; it is unreasonable to expect to ‘get’ anything I say._

Jim can only laugh, drawing the attention of another cadet he passes. He has his overnight bag over his shoulder, ready to spend the weekend—and by weekend he means the one day out of the week he doesn’t have a mass of classes—halfway across the Academy in his boyfriend’s dorm. The courtyard he walks through is sunny and bright, and he types back, _I meant type. Type something sexy._

_Something sexy._

_Now you’re just being cute on purpose._

Jim passes the mermaid fountain and isn’t particularly surprised when he doesn’t get a response. He detours to a bench around the side of the fountain—he’s only a few minutes from Spock’s quarters, and he wants to finish what he started. He sends, _You know what I mean. We talked about this. Just try._ Then he stares at the blank black screen for a full three minutes, waiting. 

Finally, he gets: _Which tense would be most appropriate to fictitious actions?_ Before Jim can respond, Spock sends another. _I believe we did not go through the process in as much depth as necessary for me to understand._ He always texts exactly how he talks; Jim can hear the deep voice in his head.

Knowing this probably won’t go well, he sends: _I’m running my hand down the curve of your spine, holding you against my body as I grind our hard cocks together._

He expects the pause that follows. He can practically see the wheels in Spock’s head turning. He knows that Spock’s probably fighting the urge to ridicule the whole process. He also knows Spock loves him and will try.

Eventually: _I am pleased with your actions. I hold my hand up, fingers parted._

Jim stares at the text, rolls his eyes, and tries not to make fun of his boyfriend’s heritage. Nonetheless, Jim responds, trying. _I wrap my fingers in yours, my other hand slipping into your pants. You want me to touch you so badly that you nearly whimper when I finally grab your hard Vulcan dick in my hand._

_I do not whimper._

_I said ‘nearly.’_

Typed. He thinks it too late and doesn’t bother to send the correction. This is supposed to up the anticipation of Jim reaching Spock’s rooms, have him hot right from the minute he gets in the door, but Spock’s more killing his self-appointed mood than anything. He knows Spock is resisting sassing him back, though Spock would never admit he’s nearly as sassy as he is. Or argumentative. Or whatever. He sends: _I find your procedures acceptable given the situation. I tell you I am amenable to moving forward._

Jim just wants to drop his head into his hands. Sighing, he stands off the bench, slinging the bag back over his shoulder. He starts walking again, grits his teeth, and tries to continue in the vain hope Spock will get a clue in the next five minutes. _I shut you up with a fierce kiss, grinding hard into your gorgeous body and stroking your thick cock. I want you inside me; I’m desperate for it._

_As it is unlikely this event is taking place next to an adequate source of lubrication, I extricate myself from your grip and head to the nearest available amenity as per your wish._

_Spock, this is a fantasy. I’m already wet._

_Did I prepare you?_

Jim pauses, deciding in exasperation, _Yes._

_We did not type that._

_Did you want to take me raw?_

_Jim, I never wish to harm you._

_Then we can mutually agree that you off-screen prepared me._

Jim opens a door to the building and walks down the hall, passing several other students out of their red uniforms. Jim’s in jeans and a shirt himself, expecting Spock to be in standard pants and a sweater. He should’ve made them naked in the text scenario, not that that would’ve helped. He turns the corner and receives: _In that event, I usher you to lay down on the bed. I rearrange the blankets so that they are not in the way. If you are agreeable, I sit between your legs and push my penis inside of your anus. I am assuming you are also adequately stretched._

 _Wide as a football, baby._ Now Jim’s just drawing wry amusement.

_I am not familiar with that term, but I will assume it is an object larger than the circumference of my penis._

_Exponentially._

_In that case, I must insist we postpone our sexual intercourse so that you may seek the appropriate medical attention._

_Spock._

_Jim?_

_No. Just no._

_Jim, while I am sure the human anus is very flexible, there are certain limits beyond which—_ If they were face to face, Jim would cut Spock off. Instead, he simply flips his communicator shut and shoves it into his back pocket, half because he’s having trouble containing his laughter and half because he’s at his destination. 

He presses the bell. When the door slides open a minute later, Spock’s standing on the other side, communicator still out and thumb over the detachable miniature keyboard. Jim doesn’t even wait to be let inside; he brushes past Spock, heading straight for the bedroom and trying to keep the humour off his face. Student accommodations are small, so it’s a choice between the bed and desk to sit at. Not an entertainer, Spock doesn’t have any couches. Jim takes a seat on the side of the bed and tosses his bag to the floor, waiting for Spock to follow him. 

Spock does, strolling into the room in his grey v-neck sweater and a neutral frown. Jim can hear the front door sliding shut in the background, and Spock surveys Jim’s hands. When he finds them empty, he snaps his communicator shut and rests it on the nightstand. 

He asks Jim, “How did I do?”

Unable to contain his grin, Jim says, “Terrible.” Spock’s expression doesn’t change. He probably isn’t surprised. Jim reaches for his hand and tugs him closer—Spock leans down for the kiss Jim presses up into him. When he pulls back, Jim adds, “You’re lucky you’ve got a pretty face.” He’s teasing, of course, but Spock still lifts an eyebrow. 

“It is an entirely illogical practice.”

“But fascinating?” Jim tries. Spock takes a seat beside him on the bed and dashes all his hopes.

“Not in the slightest.”

So Jim sighs and says, “But you’ll try anyway, because you love me?”

Spock simply nods. Though they’re sitting side by side, they’re turned to face one another, legs pressing into one another, hip to hip and knee to knee. Jim longs for these weekends too much. They both work too hard. It’ll pay off, someday, when they’re up on a Starship together, but for now, it’s a pain to be apart so much. That’s part of why mastery of the communicator would help. They already talk late at night, but if they could do it through soundless words, they could do it during class. Spock wouldn’t, of course, but during Jim’s, Jim would. He’s smart enough to maintain the grades without paying full attention, anyway. Anything that gives him more _Spock_.

He leans in to press another chaste kiss to Spock’s lips, and Spock murmurs against him, “You may have to teach me more.” Jim kisses him again, then again. 

“I will.” But when he straightens out, he’s not quite sure _how_. Spock just doesn’t get it. 

Then an idea hits Jim, and he grins with it. He can almost see the worry in Spock’s eyes at his own mischievous smile, so he kisses Spock’s cheek in reassurance. He asks, “Can I show you?” Spock waits, and Jim figures it’s for more information, so he continues, “An example. With someone who does get it. But it won’t mean anything; I just want to give you an idea of how it’s supposed to go.” Spock’s eyebrow lifts again, and Jim insists, “It wouldn’t mean anything, and you’ll be right here.”

Spock doesn’t mention that it’s all fictitious and probably therefore already has no baring. He agrees, “Very well.”

Smiling at his own cleverness, Jim whips his communicator back out. He holds it close to Spock to give them both a good view, and he promptly sends to Bones: _Remember when I bought you that mint julip at Dante’s last week and you said you’d owe me?_

He doesn’t fully expect Bones to answer right away; Bones isn’t off today. Though, if memory serves, he shouldn’t have any classes at this hour. Probably just studying: medical officers go through even more than command in some cases. Jim’s delighted when he gets a text back. _Oh no._

 _Yeah. Anyway, I need you to sext with me._ Before Bones can blow up at him, he quickly adds, _Spock’s with me. I just want to show him how to do it right._

Immediately, he gets: _Holy shit, you taught the hobgoblin to sext?_

Conscious of Spock looking over his shoulder, Jim chooses his words carefully. _He’s still learning. ...Help me show him?_

There’s a moments pause before Bones returns, _Kid, I don’t swing that way._ While Jim’s in the middle of typing his answer, another comes through. _And for the record, I didn’t do shit as stupid as sexting even when I was your age._

_You’re full of shit, Bones. Just help me out, okay? Pretend I’m that chick you like from Psyche with the dog head._

_My interest in her is purely scientific._

_Full. Of. Shit._

Spock says dryly, “This is not particularly illuminating.” Jim doesn’t answer, he’s holding out hope. It’s not like he has any better ideas. Or any other ideas, period.

He’s half shocked when Bones sends: _All right, you brat. I’m storming into the hotel room ready to go, so you better be ready to take all this._

Semi-shocked, Jim half-flushes. Somehow, he didn’t really think this through. He wasn’t really mentally prepared for that. It’s not a bad surprise, exactly; he’s always had a latent attraction to Bones; who wouldn’t? But it was never something attainable, and besides, he has Spock. He looks aside at Spock and is relieved to see Spock regarding the text levelly with no adverse signs. 

Licking his lips, Jim returns, _Of course I’m ready. Big man like you? I fingered myself and everything. I’m on the bed with my ass in the air, just begging you to fuck me._

Quicker than Jim expect, Bones answers, _Gonna get your wish, kid, but not before I teach a lesson for bugging uncle Bones during his studies. I’m pulling you over my lap first, spanking your tight ass raw._

Jim nearly snorts; trust Bones to go for kink. Still, he can work with it. _And I’m squirming in your lap, loving it, rubbing my cock against your leg. I wish you’d stop so I could ride your big dick._

_I bet you do. But I know what a little snot you are, so I’m not just going to take your word for it. A cock as big as mine can do real damage. I’m running my fingers all over your ass, checking your tiny hole._

_I hope I’m not dripping lube on your hands. I’m pressing back into your hands, wanting more._

_I’m gonna give you more. Gonna make you scream my name. I shove my finger up your ass so hard you’re nearly crying, and then I’m jabbing your sweet spot with it over and over while your cock drips a wet patch on my leg._

Holy shit. This is how to sext. Jim can feel his cheeks getting warm, and he has the sudden urge to squirm. But it’s just show and tell, just fake, he tells himself. He’s just trying to be educational, really. He sort of feels bad, getting hot off Bones’ words, but he can feel Spock next to him, so that makes it alright, doesn’t it? He still hesitates when he types, _I’m so hard and I’m begging you to take me, can’t take much more of this. I’m promising I’ll be good._

_And I’m picking your used panties off the side of the bed and shoving them in your mouth to gag you; I don’t need to hear naughty boys beg for mercy they don’t deserve. You wanted to party with Bones, you’re gonna get it my way. And I’m gonna finger your sweet pussy all night long like some bitch off the street I paid for._

Spock says, “I do not appreciate his language regarding you,” and Jim nearly jumps. He’s too immersed in the text. Which he knows isn’t good. Spock’s voice is clipped, and when Jim leans against his warm body, he feels tense. Jim knows he needs to tone it down.

He quickly sends back, hoping it’ll pass on the hint, _I’m starting to wish I had a safeword._

There’s a pause before an answer. _Wanna stop?_

Jim types too fast, _No._ Then: _I just want you to take me. I’m burning for it._

Another pause, and: _I’m deciding to take pity on you. I’m pushing you off my lap and letting you spit out your gag. Then I’m pushing you onto the mattress and climbing on top of you, kissing you all over._

That’s better. Jim wants to tell Spock to do that, just that, but his voice is stuck in his throat, and instead he just types, _I’m spreading my legs for you, wanting you in me so badly. I’m rubbing my cock against yours and running my hands over the muscles of your chest, clinging to your shoulders. I’m whispering in your ear, asking you sweetly to bury your cock deep inside me._

_I never could resist your voice. I’m kissing you hard and pressing my cock against your hole. I’m pushing inside and nearly breaking you with the force of my cock._

_I’m kissing you back, then screaming your name, loving the slide of your thick cock inside me._

_You’re so tight. I’m slipping further, sheathing my dick in your body, and I’m grabbing your hands and pinning them to the mattress, locking our fingers together and putting you at my mercy._

_I’m straining against you, but you hold me so tight, kiss me so good._

_I’m starting to fuck you into the mattress, making love to you so hard—_ Jim doesn’t get to read the rest of the text. 

Spock snatches the communicator right out of his hands and tosses it across the bedroom; Jim practically yelps. His head snaps around to the side, and Spock’s breathing hard, very hard, looking at him with that _feral_ look he gets after bottling things for so long and then just snapping, the way he gets in the throws of sex he says he shouldn’t have more than once every seven years but does anyway, something forbidden and animal. He wants to have no emotions, but he’s still young, learning, struggling. Jim’s skin is already hot, crotch already buzzing, head already a little foggy, but seeing Spock like _this_ always gets to him. 

He mumbles, breathless, “Sorry, I...”

Spock opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. His eyebrows knit together, pained, and Jim can tell it’s not at him. It’s that self-realization sort of look, the worry of not being _logical._

Feeling slightly sheepish amongst other things, Jim mutters, “I didn’t mean to make you jealous.”

“I am not jealous,” Spock says immediately, with such insistence that the denial is laughable. 

“I have no interest in Bones, really. I just thought if you saw how it works, you might get a better idea—” 

“I am not,” Spock repeats, stressing the ‘not,’ “jealous.”

Across the room, the communicator makes a mechanical beep against the floor. Jim and Spock are staring at one another, and neither even looks aside. 

Jim tilts his head and leans experimentally forward, hoping he can kill two birds with one stone. He doesn’t want to fight, would rather show Spock that _Spock_ is who he wants, and he’s too worked up right now to waste it. 

Spock surges forward, kissing him so fiercely than Jim’s knocked over. It’s an awkward angle, but he stays where he is, pinned to the mattress while Spock drapes over him, claiming his mouth possessively. Jim struggles to shift, to throw his legs onto the bed and properly underneath Spock, shoes still on and everything. For once, Spock doesn’t stop to scold him. Spock’s hands slide around his hips, and Jim lifts his arms to wrap around Spock’s shoulders. The communicator beeps again, and he ignores it. 

When Spock finally pulls back to let him breathe, Jim can’t help but tease, “See? I told you sexting can lead to good things.” Spock gives him a very flat look, something akin to a glare. Jim repeats a guilty, “Sorry.” In his defense, he didn’t think it would actually get that intense; Bones surprised him.

He’s even more surprised when Spock’s expression suddenly softens. If possible, there’s a flicker of shame in his dark eyes, something Jim only catches because he’s been with Spock long enough to see past all the Vulcan masks. Spock says, “I will endeavor to improve my ‘sexting’ skills to please you.”

“And I won’t sext anyone else. Promise.” Then he adds, sighing and knowing he probably should’ve all along, “...But you don’t have to if you aren’t comfortable. I’m sorry I pushed you.”

“I am not uncomfortable. And as a good mate, it is my duty to indulge my t’hy’la’s tastes.”

Jim grins so broadly his face nearly cracks. He can’t resist Spock, never could. He’s never loved anyone else like this, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

He pulls Spock back down by the sweater, ready for more than a simple text could ever say.


End file.
